Welcome to South Africa
by KatFenn
Summary: A little more about the life and times (and thoughts) of Stringfellow Hawke, playing on his tendency to self-introspect. How good is he as a Field Operative? What can he do without the Lady?
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to South Africa**

By Kat Fenn

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters…as countless others before me, I have borrowed them as I hear their voices in my head!

Author's note: PS: I have tried to keep this in the era of the late 80's, so the technology is rather dated.

P.P.S As per some of my reviews I have tried to flesh out String's character a bit and I've tried to do this from his POV. I promise I've worked in some action towards the end – although be warned for die-hard Airwolf fans…the Lady isn't involved in much…sorry!

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

**Chapter 1**

Stringfellow Hawke shifted slightly in his seat. It felt strange to be just sitting, whilst someone else flew the plane he was on. "_Well, at least I'm not in the co-pilot seat and sitting on my hands_," he thought to himself.

"Anything I can get for you sir?" whispered the air stewardess, startling him slightly.

"How about another scotch, miss? With water and ice, please."

"Certainly, sir. Coming right up!"

String settled back into his seat, adjusting his headphones over his ears. Strains of Beethoven's Seventh symphony sounded in his ears. He looked forward to hearing the haunting melody of the slow movement, which always seemed to him to reflect the composer's true anguish and frustration at being deaf in a hearing world.

The plastic glass of scotch appeared magically at his elbow. The stewardess moved swiftly away in the darkness, trying not to disturb the other passengers, most of whom were asleep.

String went back to his thoughts. Back to six months ago, at his cabin.

Caitlin had said that she needed to talk to him. So he had flown the two of them, in the Jet Ranger, to his cabin. Once settled with a bottle of wine, Caitlin stared into the fire for what seemed to be a long time, until String put his hand on her shoulder. "Hey…what's wrong, Cait?"

She had turned to him with eyes that didn't quite seem to be hers. Instead of the normal sparkle of mischief that was there, he saw something almost sad, an element of hopelessness.

"String…."

Taking her hand in his, he told her she could tell him anything. "What's troubling you, girlie?"

Cait had taken a deep breath, and had told him that she wanted him to listen to all that she had to say, before he said anything. "_Uh oh_," he had thought to himself. "_This is serious."_

She had poured her heart out to him – how she felt when they first met, how she had taken the step of coming to find him in California even though her head had told her heart that this was just a stupid, girlish whim…how she felt when she finally found him, and Dom had offered her a job. And then how she tried to fit in, be one of the guys. Where the two of them seemed to be in a tug of war of feelings for each other – first one way, then the other. And how, finally, after four years of her moving to California from Texas, that she had finally screwed up the courage to say all this.

She told him she loved him, and asked if he could love her – if their relationship could go further than just friends.

At which point String stopped breathing. Looking straight into her eyes, he told her that he loved her, but not the way she wanted him to love her. He didn't feel that he could give her what she wanted. And he wasn't sure if what they felt, at various times during the past four years, was the love she so desperately wanted from him.

And she has tested him then – with a long, passionate kiss. Neither of them felt "the sizzle", as Cait so succinctly put it. She apologised for testing him, and wanted to leave right away, but he wouldn't let her go. He had held her in his arms, and just as he suspected, her tears began to fall almost immediately. Tears that fell for hours, soaking the front of his plaid shirt, until she finally quietened and fell asleep. He had covered her with a blanket and left her to sleep on the couch. And then spent a sleepless night on his front porch, telling himself that he deserved to be freezing cold, for being such a cad. But he thought that that was the right thing to do. He wanted her to be happy, and he knew it wasn't going to be with him. He kept on thinking about Gabrielle and their short time together – he knew that he definitely did not feel the same way about Cait as he did about Gabrielle – the love and passion of his life.

The next morning Cait had come into his kitchen while he was busy making toast and coffee, and asked again if he was sure about how he felt about her. When he looked at her squarely, he could see that her eyes were red-rimmed, and tears were not far away. And he had told her, as gently as he could, that there was absolutely no chance for them. He had opened his arms to her, but she had backed away, saying that she understood, and she would never speak of this again. And assured him that they would still be friends.

Fast forward to two weeks ago, when he and Caitlin had had a long, long talk. He had offered to walk her back to her apartment from their favourite Friday night hangout – the Blues Bar, just two blocks from her apartment. Dom had stayed on at the bar, swapping war stories with Tony, the bartender. As they walked, slowly ambling along, Cait had told him that she had been doing a lot of thinking about their last talk at the cabin. She thought that she could get over the feelings she had for him, knowing that he did not feel the same way about her, and still carry on with her life as normal. She had tried to date other men, and not let how she felt change anything at the hangar. She confessed that she was fine during the day, but the moment she was alone with her thoughts at her apartment at night the tears would fall again. String tried to comfort her by holding her, but he could tell that she held herself stiffly in his arms, not allowing her body to take full comfort from him. It had saddened him. And then Cait had told him that she was leaving Santini Air for a while – to go home to Texas. Where she could spend time with her mum and dad, and try to think about what to do - away from him. Again he had apologised. And said that he was sure that there was someone out there for her – who would love her the way she deserved to be loved. And that she really shouldn't waste her time pining for him – that he really wasn't worth it. She had given him a hug, and a kiss on the cheek, and said goodbye at her front door.

She had left for her Texan home a week after they had said goodbye. Dom had been sad to see her go, but had told her to take all the time she needed, and extracted promises from her to call and let them know she had arrived safely. And had given her a big hug and whispered to her that he was sorry that it didn't work out the way she wanted it to, but that he loved her and perhaps it was better this way.

The plastic glass of scotch was empty. The Classical music programme in his earphones had gone past the Beethoven symphony, into the Chopin piano concerto and then into the Mozart opera before his mind came back to the present.

Shaking himself, hoping to rid himself of the clouds of melancholy that tore at the corners of his brain, String removed the headphones from his ears, unclipped his seatbelt and stood up. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he made his way to the tiny bathroom.

Settling back in his seat, he looked at his watch. It had been two days since he left his cabin in California. Dom had taken him to the airport, and waved him off. He had boarded the Emirates flight, and with a cursory nod to the person sitting on his left, he had sat in his aisle seat and promptly unfurled the newspaper he had with him. It had given him some time to think about the assignment that Archangel had set him – and also the other reason for why he was heading to South Africa. Once the aircraft landed in Dubai, he had three hours to kill whilst waiting for the plane to Johannesburg. He had wandered around the brightly-lit airport terminal, looking at the shops, and shocking himself at the price of alcohol. "_Well, it IS a Muslim country, I suppose_," he thought to himself, whilst trying to remember when he had last bought a bottle of scotch. Dom usually did his shopping for him. He wished that Dom could have come with him, but he knew that with Caitlin gone, someone would have had to teach her students. Dom had told him not to worry about him, that he would be fine for two weeks, and besides, one of them needed to make sure that the Lady was fine and in good repair, for in case. String remembered telling Dom not to forget to put her landing gear down if he decided to take her for her spin by himself, and that touching the cyclic on the way up through the chimney would just result in scrapes along the canyon wall. And Dom had given him a stern look and told him to piss off, just before pulling him into a big bear hug and telling him to take care of himself, and enjoy his "holiday" in Johannesburg.

His thoughts then turned to the lecture on his experiences in the Vietnam War that he was due to deliver the following Thursday, at a monthly meeting of the South African Military History Society. Not a natural public speaker, he had his meticulously prepared notes and transparencies in his carry on case. He pulled them out on the flight from Dubai to Johannesburg, and flicked through them absently, his mind half on his mission brief. As usual, Archangel had a mission for him. But one that didn't involve Airwolf, just for a change. He still couldn't figure out if Archangel had somehow manufactured the invitation from the Military History Society so that he had an excuse to be in South Africa for the mission, or if the invitation had come first and Archangel had merely jumped on the bandwagon. He recalled Archangel's last words. "Hawke, we are counting on you as a field operative, not a pilot this time. You need to meet the contact for us – he has information on a microchip for us that is vital to our efforts to stem the civil war in Zimbabwe. And bring that information back to me. I trust you, Hawke, and the people of Zimbabwe are counting on you." It sounded easy enough. Meet someone, collect a microchip, and take it back to the States with him.

Looking at his watch once again, he decided that he had had enough of his notes and his thoughts. Standing up to put them away in his carry on case, he decided that perhaps getting some sleep would be his best option. Snuggling under the slightly scratchy airline blanket, he closed his eyes.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome to South Africa**

By Kat Fenn

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters…as countless others before me, I have borrowed them as I hear their voices in my head!

Author's note: PS: I have tried to keep this in the era of the late 80's, so the technology is rather dated.

P.P.S As per some of my reviews I have tried to flesh out String's character a bit and I've tried to do this from his POV. I promise I've worked in some action towards the end – although be warned for die-hard Airwolf fans…the Lady isn't involved in much…sorry!

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

**Chapter 2**

String opened the door to his room at the Hilton Hotel. "_A definite step up from the cabin_," he thought. The big queen-sized bed beckoned temptingly. The few hours of broken sleep which he snatched on the plane did nothing to allay the fuzziness he felt in his brain and tongue and the grit in his eyes. Dropping his carry on case to the floor, he turned to the bellhop who was carrying his duffle bag and depositing it onto the bag stand. "Thank you," he said, giving him a green R10 note, hoping that he had not insulted the man by giving him a too-small tip.

"_Shower first, then bed,"_ he decided. It didn't matter that it was 9am in the morning, but String knew that he would have to take the appropriate measures to get rid of his jetlag before he had to start his mission in earnest.

He heard the telephone ring as he stepped out of the shower. Tying the crisp white terrycloth robe shut around his waist, he reached towards the receiver next to the bathroom sink. "Hawke here," he said.

"Mr Hawke? This is John Smit from the South African Military History Society. Welcome to Johannesburg! Did you have a good flight?" said a warm voice in his ear, in an unfamiliar accent.

"Good morning, Mr Smit. Yes, rather an uneventful flight. You've caught me in the shower, I'm afraid. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, I'm sure that you would like a good rest, I thought I might catch you before you fell asleep. I wanted to invite you to a dinner braai at my home this evening. Can I collect you from the hotel lobby at say 6pm?"

Mentally giving himself a good shake and reminding himself that meeting people would be one way of getting rid of the melancholy that gripped him, he forced a smile on his face that he hoped would be apparent to Mr Smit on the other end of the line. "Yes, that would be great. See you at 6."

Dropping the phone on its cradle, he vigorously towelled his short, sandy hair dry. Taking long strides, he headed towards the bed. Pulling the covers over his head, he remembered to order a wake up call for 5.30pm that evening, before succumbing to the waves of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

The shrill ring of the telephone awakened him. "Hello?" he said groggily.

"Your wake up call for 5.30pm, sir."

"Thank you." String sat up and tried to shake sleep out of his eyes. Yawning and stretching, he allowed himself the brief luxury of lying down in bed and stretching under the covers – normally Tet would be dragging the covers off him and sticking his cold nose where it wasn't wanted, as soon as he knew that his master was awake.

Selecting a pair of jeans and a golf shirt, String dressed and slipped his feet into comfortable moccasins. "_A gift from Caitlin on my last birthday_," he remembered. "Still thinking of you, Cait," he said aloud. Checking his watch, he decided that he had enough time for a cup of coffee. Quickly filling the little kettle from the bathroom tap, he set it to boil as he opened the curtains and looked out of the window to take in the sights of the Sandton central business district.

Sipping his coffee, he looked out on a busy street. Cars of different colours and makes wove their way to destinations unknown. "_Very few people walking on the street_," he observed. A bright orange bus emblazoned with the words "Putco" stopped and a steady stream of people, dressed in office wear and more colourful African style of dress, pushed their way into the bus. He noticed that a majority of cars were black and large. Very few small capacity cars, and even fewer motorbikes. Everyone seemed to be heading away from the city centre.

Looking at his watch again, String finished the last of his coffee. He grabbed his wallet and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans and made sure that his carry on case and duffle bag were securely fastened. Grabbing his room key card, he pushed the heavy room door open and walked quickly towards the lift, making sure the room door had closed and locked behind him. He had heard all the stories and he did NOT want to be a tourist statistic.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

He arrived at the lobby with a few minutes to spare. Going up to the main reception desk, he asked for a sheet of paper and a pen. Quickly scribbling a note to Dom to tell him that he arrived safely, he asked if the pretty receptionist could fax it to Santini Air. She smiled shyly and assured him that it would be done within the hour, and the fax sending confirmation would be placed under his room door. Looking sideways at him under her long, dark lashes, she asked if he had anywhere to go that night, adding that she would be off duty in about two hours. "Sorry, miss, I am afraid I do have other plans tonight. Maybe next time?" String grinned to himself. "_She is pretty cute."_

"Mr Hawke?" Turning around, String found himself face to face with a huge giant of a man, with a shock of blonde hair and blue eyes. "Mr Smit?"said String, feeling rather small and inadequate. "Nice to finally meet you!" said John Smit, taking String's right hand in his huge right paw and shaking it vigorously, whilst his huge left paw found its way round String's shoulders, pulling him into a bear hug. Patting John on the back, hoping that he would let him go before he was crushed, String managed to get out, "Please, call me String."

Seated in John's big white Mercedes, String made small talk with the big white Afrikaner. Feeling rather at a disadvantage as this man obviously had read his entire CV, he found himself eagerly asking questions about life in South Africa. He learned that John lived in a nice area of town called Hyde Park, and that it was situated more or less midway between the Sandton Central Business District (where his hotel was) and the Johannesburg Central Business District, where John's office was. That Johannesburg was one of the few cities in the world that wasn't built on a harbour or a river, and that traffic was hell during peak periods. John chatted easily about his origins, about how his ancestors were Dutch and how different his life as a mining graduate was from his current life as a Production Manager at one of the big mining houses. He was still merrily chatting away as the big white Mercedes pulled up a long, curving driveway, into what String thought was a mansion. "_Wow_," he thought, "_What a house!"_

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome to South Africa**

By Kat Fenn

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters…as countless others before me, I have borrowed them as I hear their voices in my head!

Author's note: PS: I have tried to keep this in the era of the late 80's, so the technology is rather dated.

P.P.S As per some of my reviews I have tried to flesh out String's character a bit and I've tried to do this from his POV. I promise I've worked in some action towards the end – although be warned for die-hard Airwolf fans…the Lady isn't involved in much…sorry!

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

**Chapter 3**

The smell of grilling meat assailed String's nostrils as he was escorted through the front door. "_Uh oh_," he thought, "_What am I gonna eat_?"

"Hello, Mr Hawke! I am Betina Smit, it's nice to meet you. Please come in and make yourself at home. John, give our guest a drink," she added, turning to her husband, giving String a warm hug.

"Come, String, let's get a drink. I want to introduce you to some of my friends."

String followed John into the house, trying not to stare too much. The house was huge, by American standards, with lovely high ceilings and fittings. It looked like the house was filled with wooden antique furniture, with tasteful accents of colour here and there.

String found himself standing around a large outdoor brick contraption which held glowing embers and what seemed to be big slabs of meat. He had been introduced to what seemed to be half the Military Society, of which 75% seemed to be white Afrikaans men. Given what he knew of the famous Boer hostility towards the English, he wondered how they felt about Americans. As far as he remembered, the Americans only figured largely commercially in South Africa, with no history of past hostilities. "_Thank goodness_," he thought to himself. He felt an arm slip through his, and turned to see the brown eyes of his hostess smile up at him. "Come and meet some of the ladies, Mr Hawke, I'm sure you don't want to be stuck around the braai all night, arguing over who braais the meat the best." Gratefully letting himself be pulled away, he swallowed his feelings of revulsion over the smell of barbecued meat, and hoped that his hostess would have a nice big salad that he could at least stomach.

"_There is no way I'd remember half these people_," thought String. He had wandered off a little way from the main braai and drinks area, to explore the big gardens. He stopped to admire what looked like a rose garden, with a pretty cage-like structure in the middle which housed a wooden bench. He realised that there was a young lady sitting on the bench, also quietly admiring the view. Taking a sip of the drink in his hand, he decided that maybe the company he would enjoy right now would be someone quiet.

"Hello, miss. I am Stringfellow Hawke. Would you mind if I sat down?"

The young lady turned to him. "Hello," she said shyly, while scooting quickly to the end of the bench.

String took it as an invitation. He sat down next to her, carefully picking a spot where he thought was not too close, and not too far away. "Lovely night, and lovely place." Turning to her, he asked, "So are you part of the Military History Society?"

Dark eyes looked at him through long, curled lashes. "No, my name is Karen. I am here with my parents – my mother is the secretary of the society – Andrea Du Toit. It's nice to meet you Mr Hawke. My mother has told me a lot about you. You're very young for someone who fought in the Vietnam War?"

"I was eighteen when I signed up, Karen. And please, call me String. All my friends do."

"So what is it that you do, Mr Haw…String? From what my mother told me you flew helicopters during the war. Do you still fly?"

"Yes, I do. I love flying – it's what I live to do. I work for my friend, Dominic Santini, at Santini Air. We do aerial photography, movie stunts, that sort of thing. And you, Karen? What do you do?"

"I am a teacher, a ballet teacher. Here in Johannesburg. I also do secretarial work for a few businesses, in the mornings. But ballet is what I live for."

"You must like children," said String.

"Oh, there are days when I could cheerfully kill the little horrors. But for the most part I do love them, but it's always a relief to send them home to their parents and know that I won't see them till the next week. I teach adults too, and that is more fulfilling. At least adults don't come in with their lower lips dragging on the floor because MOMMY wants them to be there."

String suppressed laughter at the thought.

"So, String…what do you do for fun? Do you have a ladyfriend back home that you go dancing with?" Karen looked at him with a dimple creasing her cheek. The thought of the the rough and tough Vietnam war vet dancing made her laugh.

"Me? You must be kidding. I don't dance. And I don't have a ladyfriend." His brow furrowed slightly as he talked. Gabrielle had loved dancing, and she was good at it – he remembered what she looked like at the horrible seedy bar in Libya. He remembered being absolutely flabbergasted at how good she was. And then he remembered what had happened to her. That he never had the chance to tell her how impressed he was with her dancing skills. Or that he never had a chance to hold her in his arms and dance with her. A deep sigh escaped him.

"String? You OK?" said Karen, putting a hand on his arm.

"Sorry, Karen, just thinking of someone... Someone long gone. Of regrets." String shook his head. "Forgive me, I shouldn't be talking about such depressing subjects. So… tell me more about you and life in South Africa."

Karen gave his arm a light squeeze before removing her hand.

They chatted a little more, and String was more than a little sorry when Mrs Smit came looking for them to tell them that dinner was ready. He stood up, and offered his arm to Karen. Mrs Smit exchanged a wink with Karen and exchanged a few words in a language foreign to his ears. "_Afrikaans_?" he supposed. Then offered his other arm to Mrs Smit.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Karen, help me out here. What's all this stuff?" said String in an undertone.

A veritable feast was laid out on the dining room table before him. Mrs Smit had thrust a plate in his hands and told him to help himself. Most of the people he had been introduced to were milling around the dining room table. String looked carefully at the food and was unable to identify most of it, other than salads.

"That's braai vleis – barbecued meat to you – there's steak, chicken and lamb chops on that platter. Next to it is snoek – that's a local fish – that's also been braai'ed. Those sausages are a South African speciality – boerewors. Made of beef and pork, I believe. Then there's a potato bake, mealiepap – like a mash but made of corn, and braaibrodt – bread cooked on the braai. And a whole lot of salads."

String gingerly helped himself to a piece of snoek. It looked and smelled delicious. He carefully avoided all the other meat on the platter, and filled his plate with various salads, the potato bake, the mealiepap and the bread. Looking around, he saw Karen had a filled plate in her hand, and was heading over to a small table that sat four. He followed her to the table and asked if he could join them. Karen introduced him to her parents and they had an interesting talk about how the Military History Society came into being and what its members did, and how they fitted into Johannesburg society in general. Karen's dad, hearing that String was more than adept on a motorbike, quickly offered to lend him his big Honda motorcycle to use for the duration of his stay. String agreed, making an arrangement for Karen to meet him for breakfast at his hotel, then pick him up and take him to her parents' home to collect the motorbike. She also offered to take him around and show him some of the sights the next morning. Thinking that it was a good opportunity to get to know the young lady a little better PLUS the added bonus of distracting him from thoughts of Gabrielle, String quickly agreed.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	4. Chapter 4

**Welcome to South Africa**

By Kat Fenn

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters…as countless others before me, I have borrowed them as I hear their voices in my head!

Author's note: PS: I have tried to keep this in the era of the late 80's, so the technology is rather dated.

P.P.S As per some of my reviews I have tried to flesh out String's character a bit and I've tried to do this from his POV. I promise I've worked in some action towards the end – although be warned for die-hard Airwolf fans…the Lady isn't involved in much…sorry!

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

**Chapter 4**

String opened the door to his hotel room. It had been a tiring evening. He went to the phone and checked for messages. There was one message – from someone who called himself Merlin. String replayed the message. The short message said, "The Angel has landed, we need to meet in Heaven." It was the other agent, he supposed. String frowned. "_Surely he needs to tell me where to meet him? And when_?"

Replacing the receiver, he had a quick shower. Deciding that he would let Archangel know that he had been contacted, he ordered a wake up call for 8am the next morning. And then proceeded to step out of his clothes and fall back into bed.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

The shrill ring of the telephone woke him up again. He shot upright in bed before he remembered where it was. "_It sure is a treat waking up WITHOUT my covers dragged off or a cold nose where it's not wanted_," he thought to himself. He answered the phone, saying a quick "Thank you," to the polite voice who informed him that it was Saturday morning, 8am. He was due to meet Karen in 30 minutes. He showered and dressed in jeans and a golf shirt, making sure he put his boots on and that his aviator glasses were in his shirt pocket. He pulled out his light jacket from his duffle bag, thinking that a light jacket was better protection that no jacket at all. He opened the curtains and looked out. Bright sunshine came filtering through his window. Traffic was light and not many people were up and about at this time of the morning. Checking that he had everything he needed for the day, String shut his hotel room door behind him.

Approaching the big reception desk in the lobby, String was amused to see that the same pretty receptionist whom he spoke to the evening before had just come on duty. He walked up to her, greeted her, and asked for paper and a pen. "Another fax, sir?" she asked, smiling at him. "Yes," said String, smiling back. "Is there somewhere I can go to write these quickly?"

"There's an alcove with a desk to your four o'clock, sir. Take your time."

Something nagged at him. "_Why would the receptionist use such a military term?"_ He decided to file the thought "_to chew on_," as Dom would say. He sat down in the alcove and quickly composed a suitably coded note to Archangel, at 'Angel White Import and Export', affixing the coded prefix which would send it straight to Archangel.

As String approached the same receptionist with his note in hand, she looked up. "Can I send that for you, sir? Oh, and I almost forgot. I think there's a message for you – are you in room 403?"

"Yes, 403, that's me," said String. The receptionist – Mika, said her name tag – handed him a white envelope. String's first thought was to open it and quickly scan through the contents when a voice behind him said, "Good morning, String!"

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String sat in the passenger seat of Karen's little red Volkswagen Golf. He was impressed by the way she deftly handled the little car, noting that there was no power steering to speak of. She had persuaded him to have breakfast 'somewhere where the locals go'. He noticed she didn't wear a lot of makeup for a Saturday morning, her wavy hair tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail, and a pair of sunglasses covering her eyes. The glare of the early morning sun through the windscreen was enough to give one a headache. He found that his trusty pair of aviator shades barely kept him from getting a headache. "Is the sun always this strong, Karen? Or I am just hungover?" said String, shielding his eyes with his right hand.

"Welcome to Africa, String. The sun IS always this hot in summer. Maybe we need to get you a proper pair of sunglasses. Actually, while we are on the subject, is there anything else you need to do other than collect the bike and have breakfast…and get a new pair of sunglasses?"

"No, Karen, I think that's pretty much it. What else do you suggest I do – I have plenty of time to kill until Thursday and today's only Saturday. It has been a while since I've had a proper holiday – in the business I'm in, it's often early morning studio calls, or having to concentrate for long stretches, either flying or fiddling around with engines. I'm not sure I know what to do anymore!"

Karen was silent for a moment or two. She wondered if String was asking her for her opinion so that they could spend more time together, or was he just asking for suggestions? "Well, String, maybe tomorrow if you'd like to go for a bike ride, you can go up through Fourways to the Cradle of Humankind and Hartebeesport Dam – there's lovely scenery to be had up there. And maybe on Monday my Dad can arrange for you to visit a working mine, if you are interested. According to my Mum you're invited to supper on Monday night, at their house, and I'm not sure about Tuesday or Wednesday. And I'm sure you'd like some time to yourself on Thursday, as you have your lecture then? And I think my Mum did say you were leaving on Friday next week, am I right?"

String listened to her voice. He was quite taken at how melodious her unfamiliar accent was. Taking sideways glances at her as she drove, he decided that he was definitely attracted to her. Changing the subject, he asked "So where are we going?"

"Right here," she answered, turning into a driveway. It looked like a long dirt road. Cars seemed to be parked on the verges, crammed in any which way. "Don't forget to lock your door, String, and put all your valuables in the boot."

String looked around. The place was a hive of activity and he could see kids running around, adults strolling hand in hand around little stands selling all sorts of things. Purposefully taking Karen's hand in his, he said, "Now you're not going to let me get lost in this crowd, are you?" She had smiled at him, and said "I wouldn't lose you, String," and winked at him.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Back in his hotel room again that night, String turned the hot water on and stood under it, letting the water run down his body. It had been an interesting day. Karen had turned out to be full of surprises, first taking him to the Farmer's Market, then for a wander by Centurion Lake, before taking him back to her parents' house for coffee and to collect her father's CBX750. He had then invited her to dinner, claiming that he did not like eating alone, so she had taken him to a little Chinese restaurant in the middle of town, where they teased each other over chopsticks and vegetable noodles. He had not tried to go any further other than holding her hand, and she seemed to be fine with that. He smiled to himself as he remembered her shy smile, with those lovely dark eyes peeping through the curtain of her hair as she looked up at him.

Finishing his shower, he suddenly remembered the message that he received from reception that morning. "_Brilliant field operative I am_," he groused to himself. Wrapping himself in a fluffy towel, he padded over to where his jacket lay, over the armchair in front of the television. He ripped the white envelope open and scanned through it rapidly. It contained instructions for a meeting rendezvous in a coffee shop in Sandton City. "Come alone, carry a newspaper under your arm and order a coffee with cold milk at Richard's Coffee Shop, next to the newspaper stand. 2pm sharp Monday."

String memorised the note, then tore it into small pieces and flushed it down the toilet. He lay on the bed and thought about what he and Karen had planned for tomorrow. A nice bike ride and a meal out in the open, and maybe this time he might do a little more than just hold her hand. Turning into his pillow, he turned the lights off and fell asleep.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	5. Chapter 5

**Welcome to South Africa**

By Kat Fenn

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters…as countless others before me, I have borrowed them as I hear their voices in my head!

Author's note: PS: I have tried to keep this in the era of the late 80's, so the technology is rather dated.

P.P.S As per some of my reviews I have tried to flesh out String's character a bit and I've tried to do this from his POV. I promise I've worked in some action towards the end – although be warned for die-hard Airwolf fans…the Lady isn't involved in much…sorry!

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

**Chapter 5**

String sat at a table just inside the little coffee shop. He surreptitiously checked his watch – it was just about bang on 2pm. Signalling to the waiter, he asked for a coffee with cold milk. Pretending to read his newspaper, String kept a careful eye on the door. As the waiter arrived with his coffee, he glanced at his watch again. 2.06pm. And still no Merlin. Trying very hard not to fidget, String turned to the next page of his newspaper.

"Are you looking for heaven, sir?" said a voice at his elbow.

Turning slowly, String looked to see his waiter, proffering what looked to be a black folder that was normally used to present the bill. As he stretched out his hand to take the folder, his waiter suddenly doubled up and fell forward onto him rather heavily. At first String thought he had fainted, but through his red uniform waistcoat he could now see the rapid bloom of a bloodstain. Looking up he could not see any movement from the direction he supposed the shot came from. Quickly putting the folder in the inside pocket of his jacket, he slowly lowered the now-unconcious man to the ground.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String sat in a rather uncomfortable plastic chair. "_Police stations are all the same – haven't they heard of comfortable chairs_?" he thought to himself. His fingers were itching to pull out the folder and examine it closely, but he didn't think this was a good idea, just in case it wasn't exactly, well, kosher. "Mr Hawke? Detective Selebano will take your statement now. This way, please," said a pleasant constable, ushering him out of his seat and towards an office at the back of the police station.

Hawke sighed to himself. He had told the story as succinctly as he could, with as many details as he could remember, and had been cross-examined ("_Well, it certainly felt like it_!" he thought to himself.). After what seemed to be like hours, they were finally happy with his statement and said he was free to go. At which point a policeman had driven him back to his hotel. And dropped him off with a pleasant "Good evening, sir."

Letting himself into his hotel room, he decided that a long, hot shower was the order of the day. He had promised to call Karen as soon as he got in, but he just didn't feel like company tonight. The thought of some time alone with his thoughts and whatever bad movie on television was appealing. "_Right, call Karen first, then shower, then…a scotch and a sandwich would do me_," he decided. Picking up the folder from his jacket pocket, he crossed the room to the phone and dialled Karen's number. While the phone rang, he examined the folder closely. Nothing out of the ordinary drew his attention.

"Karen speaking, hello."

"Karen? It's String here."

"String? Are you alright? It sounds like you've been at the police station for hours!"

"Yes, it took longer than I thought. I know we had plans for tonight, but I'm beat. Do you think I can arrange to meet you tomorrow? Maybe do lunch or dinner and do something fun afterwards?"

"Sure, String. I finish work at 1pm, but I do have to teach till about 6pm. Would you like to meet me at the studio? I'll give you the address."

String quickly scribbled down the address she gave him, and noted the directions. "_That gives me some time to do some quick research if I need to_," he thought to himself. The thought of spending more time with the pretty young lady made him smile. Giving himself a mental shake, he turned his attention to the folder again. Nothing out of the ordinary, even on close inspection, on the outside covers, spine or stitching. He then opened the folder and looked inside. Instead of a bill, there was a snippet from a newspaper article, and nothing else inside. String went to his carry on case and rummaged around inside, looking for his magnifying lens that he always carried with him. He pulled up the lens and scanned the newspaper snippet carefully. On one of the letter 'f's in the word 'different' in the bottom line looked a little fuzzy. He scratched carefully at the letter and a black dot stuck itself to his fingernail. "_Ahah!_" he thought triumphantly, "_Gotcha!_" String took his wallet out of his back pocket, and hunted through the small pile of business cards he carried. "Dom's business card would be the best place," he thought to himself, and placed the little black dot on the second 'i' of Santini Air. He carefully replaced the card in his wallet, and went to turn the shower on.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	6. Chapter 6

**Welcome to South Africa**

By Kat Fenn

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters…as countless others before me, I have borrowed them as I hear their voices in my head!

Author's note: PS: I have tried to keep this in the era of the late 80's, so the technology is rather dated.

P.P.S As per some of my reviews I have tried to flesh out String's character a bit and I've tried to do this from his POV. I promise I've worked in some action towards the end – although be warned for die-hard Airwolf fans…the Lady isn't involved in much…sorry!

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Chapter 6

String opened his eyes. His body clock seemed to have reverted to his norm, it was now 7am and he was wide awake, as was his normal custom. It was now Thursday – it had been a lovely few days and he felt well-rested and refreshed.

Karen had proved to be very entertaining company, and a good distraction for him. He kept seeing spies in every dark shadow, ready to jump him and take the information disc away from him. But he had tried his best to be good company for her as well. She was a few years younger than him, in her late thirties, reasonably attractive, with sharp wit and an engaging mind. She was reasonably well-read, considering the information bottleneck in the late apartheid-era South Africa, but very open-minded and willing to consider new ideas. He found out that she had a Masters degree in Business, but preferred working for herself so she had the freedom to turn down or accept jobs as they came along, while giving herself every chance to continue with her ballet teaching, her main passion in life. There was no man in her life at the present, but as he understood it, she did not lead a nun-like existence. She had plenty of friends, to whom she had introduced String over the past few nights, and he had enjoyed being part of a group for a change. He had done nothing more than kiss her, and hold her close, but every time he thought of taking things to the next level, tingles had crept up his spine. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so comfortable with anyone – other than Cait and Dom. He had talked to Karen about Gabrielle, and Cait, and what had happened to and with both of them, and her answer to that was to hold him close, stroke his sandy brown hair and tell him that it wasn't meant to be. String had been really surprised at how relaxed he felt in her embrace, and even though she had not said anything, he felt great comfort. He did wonder what it would be like when they spent time together at his cabin, with only each other for company, but perhaps that would be something he had to find out for himself. He had watched her teaching her adult ballet class the night before, and he was impressed at the level of knowledge she had about teaching and how she managed to integrate physics ("_Physics and ballet?"_ he had thought to himself at the time, laughing at how preposterous it had seemed) with ballet – no mean feat melding culture and science. He remembered that he had been suitably impressed and meant to take her up on further discussion later on, as Applied Physics had been his subject at University – before he concentrated on aeronautical physics as the subject of his Masters thesis.

Picking up the folder containing his notes and slides for tonight's lecture, he decided that he would have breakfast before spending a few hours going over his talk. Then he would jump on the bike and go for a ride to clear his head, and finish his ride by picking up Karen at the studio at 6pm, having a quick bite to eat, then riding through to the Military History museum in time for his 8pm talk.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

The talk was going well. The audience was paying rapt attention to what he was saying, with scarcely a fidget or a yawn. "_Only three more slides to go, hang in there hotshot_," thought String to himself.

After fielding questions for what seemed to be like hours, Mr Smit stood up and declared the meeting adjourned till the next time. The applause they gave String when Mr Smit thanked him was loud and long. String smiled and thanked the Society for the lovely bottle of wine and decorative letter opener they gave him.

Stepping down from the podium, he was ushered to a reception area where coffee, tea and biscuits were waiting. A majority of the Society members were there, waiting to shake his hand and congratulate him on a job well done. Working his way through them as quickly as was polite, his eyes sought out Karen in the crowd. He finally made his way to her and asked, "So…what did you think?"

"String, I was really impressed. For a guy who says he doesn't talk a lot, you did pretty well tonight."

He smiled. "Can I walk you to your car? I really appreciate you coming tonight," said String.

Nodding, she slipped her arm through his as he walked over to Mr and Mrs Smit, and Karen's mum and dad to thank them for a lovely evening.

Walking out to her car, String suddenly remembered that he had left his helmet by the front entrance to the museum, so that he wouldn't have to carry the cumbersome object into the lecture hall. Deciding that he should say goodbye to Karen first, he turned to her and kissed her, gently, on her lips. Her arms snaked around his neck and she slipped her tongue between his lips, to send forth little electric shocks as they touched his lips and teased his tongue. String felt his head spin and his knees start to buckle. He broke their kiss before he lost control of his legs. "My word, you ARE a good kisser," he whispered, "but people are watching."

"Oh, as are you, Mr Hawke." She grinned back at him.

"What time do I pick you up tomorrow?"

"I have a few things to do at a client – how about I meet you at my house at 11?"

"Mmmm…that sounds good," said String, giving her one last kiss before he turned to hurry back into the museum to pick up his helmet.

As he stooped down to pick up his helmet from the low table behind the door, he thought he heard a noise behind him. The next thing he knew, a blow to the back of his head rendered him unconscious and he slumped to the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

**Welcome to South Africa**

By Kat Fenn

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters…as countless others before me, I have borrowed them as I hear their voices in my head!

Author's note: PS: I have tried to keep this in the era of the late 80's, so the technology is rather dated.

P.P.S As per some of my reviews I have tried to flesh out String's character a bit and I've tried to do this from his POV. I promise I've worked in some action towards the end – although be warned for die-hard Airwolf fans…the Lady isn't involved in much…sorry!

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

**Chapter 7**

A dull throbbing ache at the base of his skull woke him. String couldn't tell if his eyes were open or shut – everything around him was pitch black. He carefully levered himself up to a sitting position. Aside from his sore head nothing else seemed to be hurt. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness around him, he could make out the outline of a small, high window, and the stretcher-like contraption he was sitting on. A door or doorway was to his right, and the room he found himself in was barely 6 feet by 3 feet, or so he supposed.

Taking a deep breath, String stood up, and almost immediately bumped his head on the low ceiling. Moving more carefully, he decided to explore his little prison.

His fumbling fingers confirmed his suspicions. There was nothing in the little room other than the stretcher camp bed, not even a light fitting. He tried to feel his way around the little window, wondering why no light had come through, and soon discovered that a thick cardboard-like material covered the outside of the window. He wondered what time it was and how long he had been unconscious. He could feel his watch still around his wrist, and he patted his back pocket of his jeans. His wallet was also untouched. He suspected that they were after the information disc that he had, and was even more puzzled as to why they had left his belongings untouched.

After what seemed to be hours, the door opened, letting a bright shaft of light into the little room. String shielded his eyes with his right hand, blinking as his pupils slowly adjusted to the assault of bright light. Two men pushed him back down onto the camp bed, one gripping his upper arms and pulling them behind his back, and the other putting his knee on String's right thigh in an attempt to get him to stay seated on the camp bed. Before String could open his mouth to shout, a grimy rag was thrust into his mouth. "_God, that tastes awful_," thought String to himself. The two men trussed his arms to his back and pushed him onto his feet. With some manoeuvring, the two men managed to get him out of the little room and into a passageway that seemed to be wide enough for all three of them to walk side by side, but not before repeatedly bumping his already-sore head against the low ceiling. String took a few deep breaths through his nose and tried to concentrate on where the men were taking him, and tried to keep a burgeoning headache at bay.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"I'm not in the mood to play games! Where the f*&% is that bloody disc?" thundered a booming voice.

String shook his head to try and clear it. His ears were ringing somewhat from the blows his assailants struck in an effort to get him to talk. His left eye was slowly closing and he could feel a trickle of warm blood dripping from his left nostril and landing on his shirt. He hadn't told them a darned thing. He remembered his training, and let his mind wander. He fixed his mind firmly on the notes of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony.

"We know who you are, and what you came for! And don't even think about bloody trying to escape – where would you run to? You are in deepest, darkest, Africa, American. A bloody dangerous place for spies!"

String stopped in the middle of the third movement. His tormentors had left, shutting the door behind them. "_Rank amateurs_," he thought scornfully to himself, "_they didn't search me or do anything other than rough me up_." He tested the bonds which tied his arms behind his back. He grinned silently to himself. "Well, they don't know about my trick shoulder." Pulling hard on his left elbow, a satisfying 'pop' signalled that he succeeded in dislocating his left shoulder. Swallowing tears of pain, he quickly freed himself from his bonds and looked around, trying to figure out how to escape.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

He had done it. He had disposed of the one man that had come back into the room intending to drag him back to the little room he had been imprisoned in. Grabbing his captor's gun, he had carefully made his way down the passage, trying to keep to the shadows, hoping to find a way out of the building he found himself in. He was in luck, as it would appear. The second doorway he peeked into had a door which was bolted with a simple, and large, padlock. Remembering the letter opener that he had been given, he pocketed the gun and tried to reach the letter opener in his other pocket. A spasm of pain shot through his left shoulder. Realising that the quickest way was for him to 'pop' his shoulder back in, he braced his left side against the doorway and put every ounce of strength he could muster into righting his shoulder. 'Pop' went his shoulder, just at the point where he thought he wouldn't be able to stop blacking out from the pain. He worked his shoulder experimentally. "_Yup, it's definitely back in. But f&*% that's sore!"_ he thought to himself.

Using the letter opener in his right hand, he managed to jimmy the lock using some of the decorative filigree metal work that he pulled off the letter opener. As the padlock sprang open, he worked the latch open and hefted the gun in his right hand once more.

Poking his head out into the darkness, String looked around carefully before heading out into the nearest clump of bushes. He could see lights in parts of the building he had left, and tried to avoid them. As he hid himself in the bushes, he could hear shouts from his captors. "_Ok, they've finally figured out I've disappeared! About time, guys_," he thought sarcastically to himself. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see a moped almost directly in front of him. Deciding that his best option was to get back to his hotel, and jumped onto the moped with due care for his sore left shoulder. Moving more by feel than sight, the groping fingers of his right hand pulled out a nest of wires. Twisting together a few different combinations of wires, the motor roared to life. String twisted the throttle and prayed he could find his way out of wherever he was.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Not daring to turn on the headlights, String went as quickly as he could. The narrow one lane road, although tarred, was pot-holed and bumpy. He made his way carefully towards what he thought was the main road, stopping to check for signs of pursuit, every once in a while, over his right shoulder. His left shoulder was starting to ache, and his headache was starting up again. He could barely see out of his left eye. String gripped the handlebars firmly and hoped he could find somewhere that he could recognise.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String finally pulled over at a petrol station. The early dawn light cast a soft glow on the surrounding landscape. Parking the moped behind the carwash, he hoped that it would remain inconspicuous long enough – otherwise he would have a very nasty surprise if the cops suddenly showed up to arrest him for theft. Although he had heard of the inefficiency of the cops in South Africa, he could not take a chance. He had absolutely no idea where he was, and the only person he knew he could count on for help was Karen. Checking his watch, he decided that it was a little early to wake Karen up. He walked into the petrol station's shop and asked if he could use the restroom.

Looking at himself in the mirror, String took stock. His left eye was almost swollen shut , the eyelid puffed up and a rich shade of purple. When he prised his eyelid open, the steel blue eye within had seemed perfectly fine, and no trace of redness in the whites of his eyes. So he had a black eye – wouldn't have been the first time. He bathed it in cold water and left it alone. String used toilet paper to stem the bleeding from his left nostril. He wiggled his nose experimentally – nothing seemed to be broken. And his nose looked more or less normal. There was a bruise on his left cheekbone but again, nothing seemed to be broken. Turning on the cold water tap again, String cupped his hands and threw cold water on his face. "_Not too bad, actually, I look like I've been in a bar brawl but nothing worse_," he thought to himself.

String locked himself in a toilet stall, pulled the lid down and sat down to think. There was nothing in his carry on case or duffel that he desperately needed – except his passport. His air ticket was in his carry on case, but he supposed that he could get another flight home. He didn't know if it was safe for him to go back to the hotel. Even though his assailants did not use his name, he was sure that they knew who he was – otherwise how would they have known who to grab at the Military History Society meeting? He still had the gun he stole from one of his assailants tucked into the back waistband of his jeans. He had his light jacket on, his wallet, and his watch. He had given the bottle of wine he was given the previous night to Karen, and he had the bits of the letter opener in one of his pockets. Further scrutiny revealed bits and pieces of paper, receipt stubs and bits of fluff in his pockets. He pulled out his wallet and checked that the little black dot was still in place on Dom's business card. He shook his head in disbelief – to think that he had gotten away that easily…maybe the people who were hired to get him weren't really professionals; or maybe he was just plain lucky.

He checked his watch again. 7am. "_OK, time to wake Karen up_," he thought to himself, "_I could really use some TLC right now_." He unlocked the stall door and peered out. Noone was in sight. He walked back into the shop and asked if there was a payphone that he could use. The attendant stared at him, and asked if he was alright, before pointing in the general direction of the payphone at the back of the store.

String strode off to the phone. As he picked up the receiver, he realised that he did not have the correct change. Scowling, he slammed the receiver back onto its cradle and stalked back to the attendant at the counter. He asked for the correct change and pulled out a R200 note. "Sir, I don't have that much change – do you have anything smaller?" said the attendant apologetically.

String rummaged through his wallet and produced a dark brown R20 note. "Will this do?"

The attendant took the note from him and gave him a handful of unfamiliar coins. "Thanks," growled String, making his way back to the phone.

"Karen speaking, hello," said a sleepy voice.

"Karen? It's String here."

"String? Isn't this a bit early for you? Did you want to meet for breakfast or something?"

"Errr…breakfast sounds good, but I actually rang because I need some help. Is there any chance you can pick me up?"

"Sure, String. Where are you?"

"I'm at a petrol station somewhere. Hang on, let me ask the attendant." String left the receiver swinging as he trotted to the front desk.

Armed with the address of the petrol station, he made his way quickly to the phone. "Karen? You still there?"

"I'm still here, String. Where are you?"

String gave her the address he obtained from the attendant.

"String, what the heck are you doing that deep in Soweto? Are you out of your mind? You could be killed! Look around – how many white people do you see around you? You stay put, stay inside the shop, I'll be there in about 30 or 45 minutes. In the meantime, watch your back. A rich white American wandering around the streets of Soweto is just asking to be mugged or killed!" Karen slammed down the phone and scrambled into her clothes. In a matter of minutes, she gunned the motor of her little red golf and took off in the direction of Soweto, hoping that String was alright.

String kept a sharp eye out for Karen's little red golf. He kept a wary eye on people coming into and leaving the little shop, trying to keep his cool and remain inconspicuous. After what seemed to be a lifetime, he spotted Karen's car pulling into the parking lot of the service station. He jogged out towards the car, first checking if he was being watched.

Karen had the door unlocked and waiting. String swung himself into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. "Where are we going, String?"

"I don't know Karen, just drive us somewhere where we can talk. I really need your help."


	8. Chapter 8

**Welcome to South Africa**

By Kat Fenn

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters…as countless others before me, I have borrowed them as I hear their voices in my head!

Author's note: PS: I have tried to keep this in the era of the late 80's, so the technology is rather dated.

P.P.S As per some of my reviews I have tried to flesh out String's character a bit and I've tried to do this from his POV. I promise I've worked in some action towards the end – although be warned for die-hard Airwolf fans…the Lady isn't involved in much…sorry!

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

**Chapter 8 **

Karen stopped the car in the parking lot of Zoo Lake. She had gritted her teeth to stop herself from asking questions, and concentrated on getting them out of Soweto through the early morning traffic. Even though it was Friday, work started early in Johannesburg and traffic was starting to build up.

She turned to face String. "Now are you going to tell me what happened? Where's your bi…"her voice trailed off as he turned to her and she saw the extent of his injuries. "Goodness gracious, String, what happened to you last night?" She reached out to touch him.

"Maybe you can kiss it better, Karen?" said String with a half-smile.

"Tell me what happened, String, otherwise I am not going anywhere!" she demanded.

Taking a deep breath, String launched into the tale. He watched Karen's face intently as he talked. "She really cares about me," he thought.

At the end of his tale, Karen took his hands in hers. "OK, Stringfellow Hawke, let's make a plan, as we say in South Africa."

"Oh no, something more important first," said String. He pulled her closer towards him and kissed her like he was drowning and she was a breath of fresh air. Karen giggled as the gear shift pressed up between them. "So is that a gearstick in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"

"Don't make me laugh, it hurts…"said String.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Karen had taken him to Fournos Bakery and told him to wait in the car while she made a quick run to pick up croissants and hot coffee. She then drove him to her ballet studio and sat him down in her tiny little office. She gave him the telephone, two croissants and a coffee while she ran herself a hot shower in her locker rooms.

String contacted Michael and related the whole story. "The dot is safe, Michael, I just need to get out of Johannesburg. I don't have my passport either."

String heard Michael give instructions to Marella to get on the phone and make an arrangement with the United States Embassy in Pretoria to arrange for an emergency passport and to have it couriered to Karen's ballet studio. Michael then said to String, "Right. So Marella will make sure you have a passport. You weren't seriously thinking of taking a commercial flight were you? There is no way that you could escape detection at the airport – not with a name like Stringfellow Hawke!"

"OK, OK, Michael. Twist my arm why don't you. I'm sure I can persuade Dom to bring the Lady for a visit," drawled String. "So why is it that I need a passport anyway then?"

"It's called being LEGIT, Hawke. Dammit, I do try!"

"Hawke out, Michael. I'll see you in a few days."

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Hey, Dom, you're a sight for sore eyes."

Dom looked up from his paperwork. "Cait!" he said, his gap-toothed grin splitting his face in two. "Boy am I glad to see you!"

"Miss me, Dom?"

"You betcha. Are you back for a visit or to stay?"

"Dom, I'm back to stay, I hope. I think I've gotten all that String stuff out of my system and I want to be back in the air again. I didn't have much of a chance at home."

Dom threw his head back and laughed. "You won't believe this, Cait, but I've just got a call from String. He needs a ride home from Johannesburg and I thought of taking the Lady for a run. You coming?"

"Like hell, YEAH!" said Cait, running to give him a big hug.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String was bored. He had been holed up in Karen's ballet school for the past 24 hours and it was driving him crazy. Much as he loved classical music, it was driving him crazy. Not to mention all the sideways glances he was given, as students walked past the little office. He had even gotten a wolf whistle – from a male student, no less! He checked his watch again. Dom had called to say they were on their way a few hours ago, and he expected them to be at the rendezvous point at Lanseria Airport in about two hours. His new passport bulged in his jacket pocket. Karen was going to take him there once she finished teaching, and her last class was just leaving. The sound of clapping, the traditional thank you from the students to the ballet teacher, caught his attention. "_Hallelujah_!"

Karen closed the studio door behind her. String, seeing her, started to rise from the office chair he was sitting on. Waving goodbye to the last of her students, she whipped into a series of chainé turns which took her straight into String's arms. "Ouf!" exclaimed String, as she finished her series of turns with a triple pirouette. "How do you do that, Karen?"

"Wanna learn?" she grinned, sticking her tongue out at him. "I'll teach you!"

String raised his eyebrow as she dissolved into giggles.

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

They had arrived at Lanseria Airport in good time. String was still looking for ghosts in every corner but to his relief, there seemed to be none in sight. He took a deep breath, and tried to relax.

"Want a cup of coffee, String? We still have twenty minutes or so. "

"No thanks, no coffee – the aircraft I'm being picked up in doesn't exactly have a bathroom in it, and it's a long flight home."

"Really, String? All the way back to the States and no toilet?" Karen looked at him in disbelief. "How many hours are you going to have to hold it in for?"

"Oh it won't be too long. We're all used to it." String moved closer to Karen and wrapped both his arms around her waist. He buried his face in her dark hair and breathed in her scent. Karen in turn wrapped her arms around him and snuggled her face into his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart beating. They stood for what seemed to be hours, saying nothing, just enjoying the scent and the warmth of each other. Eventually, Karen pulled away from him and looked up into his steely blue eyes.

"Will I see you again, String?"

String brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "I think it's your turn to come to me, Karen. IF you want to see me again, that is."

She punched his arm, lightly. "You _does*_, of course I want to see you. OK…I'll make the trip, but only if you promise to meet me at the airport…AND show me around."

String smiled as he pulled her close. He lifted her chin so that his lips could meet hers. And then kissed her as if there was no tomorrow.

"AHEM!" said a familiar voice behind them. Startled, Karen broke the kiss and turned to face the stranger.

"Dom!" said String warmly. He grabbed Dom in his free arm and gave him a big hug. Then as a familiar freckled face peeked out from behind Dom, "Cait! What a surprise!"

"Hey, I'd like you to meet a special friend of mine – this is Karen."

"Hello Karen, sweetheart, it's nice to meet you. I understand you'll be coming to visit us soon then?" said Dom, grinning from ear to ear.

"Errr…how did you know that Dom – we were just discussing it?" said Karen.

"Oh, I know…"said Dom as he winked at her.

"Hi, I'm Cait. The three of us work together at Santini Air," said Cait to Karen, by way of introduction.

"Errr, guys, I'd hate to break this up, but I think we had better be going, it's a long trip back home," Cait added. "Besides, I'm sure we'll see you again soon, right, Karen?"

Karen smiled at all three of them. She already felt very comfortable in their presence. "You bet!" she said.

All four of them walked back towards the tiny immigration booth. Both Cait and Dom produced their passports for inspection, and String had to answer a few questions as to why his entry stamp into South Africa was missing, but eventually all three of them had the exit date stamped into their passports and were ready to go. String turned to Karen. Words failed him. He hugged her close, and kissed her deeply. Eventually Karen pulled away and said, "I'll see you soon, Stringfellow Hawke." String was reluctant to leave, but finally kissed her hand and let her walk away. His eyes followed her as she walked away from them, waving. He wondered when, not if, she would follow up on her promise to come and visit him. He missed her already.

_*** does: South African slang term for an idiot**_

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	9. Epilogue

**Welcome to South Africa**

By Kat Fenn

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters…as countless others before me, I have borrowed them as I hear their voices in my head!

Author's note: PS: I have tried to keep this in the era of the late 80's, so the technology is rather dated.

P.P.S As per some of my reviews I have tried to flesh out String's character a bit and I've tried to do this from his POV. I promise I've worked in some action towards the end – although be warned for die-hard Airwolf fans…the Lady isn't involved in much…sorry!

**WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

**Epilogue**

Karen splashed water on her face. She would be landing in Los Angeles soon. It had been four long months since she had last seen String, but the letters that flew back and forth across the Atlantic every few weeks had been full of descriptions of life, and how much they missed each other. Shed dried her face and patted some moisturiser in. Much as she wanted to look good for String, the thought of putting makeup on still disgusted her somewhat. She pulled on a fresh grape coloured top from her bag and exchanged it for her rumpled blue one. She smoothed down her jeans and checked that they were still reasonably fresh. She wondered how the three of them had made it back to Los Angeles without a toilet? The flight had been a long one and she had made use of the bathroom facilities on at least three occasions. "_Yeah, like that's something I should be focussing on_," she thought to herself. Right on cue, the "return to your seat" signal pinged. Grabbing her bag, she made her way back to her seat, stowing her bag in the overhead locker before buckling herself in.

Karen pulled her rucksack over her shoulders. She knew that String rode motorbikes, but wasn't sure how he was going to pick her up, as he mentioned that he did not own a car. So just in case, she carried a hiking rucksack and a bag that she could carry slung across one shoulder. She made her way out of the glass doors, straining to see String…or Cait…or Dom.

"Looking for me?" breathed a voice into her ear.

"String!"

String made no reply, he just hugged her close. He loosened his grip just enough so he could bend his head to hers and greedily devoured her lips. "I missed you."

"I missed you more. God, String, I've forgotten how good you look," said Karen, as she tilted her head up to lose herself in his steel blue eyes.

String put her rucksack on his back and wrapped his left arm firmly around her waist. He led her out through the terminal into the small charter terminal next door.

"Where are we going, String?"

"To my cabin. Dom lent me a chopper for the weekend, and I've loaded it with supplies. So it'll be just us for a few days…until I can bear to share you with someone else….then we'll go to the hangar and say hello to Dom and Cait."

"Just you and me, String? Sounds good. I've been thinking of all these things I've wanted to do to you and with you…"her voice trailed off as a hot blush crept up her neck.

"Oh, I have a few ideas of my own," said String, winking at her. "By the way, we won't EXACTLY be alone – I live with my hound, Tet."

"I think I can bear to share you with a dog, String. But I think I should be polite and say hello to Dom and Cait BEFORE we disappear?"

"Oh, we can take care of that – we'll radio them from the chopper. So…any more excuses or do I have you all to myself now?"

"How about a discussion on the physics of a pirouette?" she dissolved into giggles as String quirked his eyebrow at her.

**-THE END- **


End file.
